


Falter

by murderbreak



Series: Readjust [4]
Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Chris is a good guy, Drug-Induced Sex, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, Loneliness makes you do dumb stuff, One Night Stands, Recreational Drug Use, pent up anger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-10
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-10-17 11:08:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10592751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderbreak/pseuds/murderbreak
Summary: You and Chris had become closer since the night at the cabin. He was your go to for everything.





	

You and Chris had become closer since the night at the cabin. He was your go to for everything; it helped that he was the one who lived the closest to you. You kept each other on track, whether it was eating, or showering, or going to sleep. You two were there for each other. He looked after you when you started up on smoking weed as a way to help you sleep; he often insisted that you do it at his place rather than by yourself. “It's easier to keep an eye on you and all the booty calls you're gonna make,” he’d joked.

You were with him the weekend after you found Josh. You were with him when you got lonely, when you smoked, when he wanted to bounce app ideas off of you to see what would work in the ever-changing application world, when he wanted a hand to hold after the day became too much.

You were there when he got the call about the party that Jessica was setting up. “It'll be like group therapy except we don't have to talk about anything,” she'd said. “Like old times.”

You wished you'd smoked more beforehand, thinking about what you had left at Chris’ apartment as your stared out the window of his car. Chris was driving to Emily’s place, where the party would be, and you were busy chewing on your knuckle. There were a lot of reasons you didn't want to go. You should have taken a hit just before you left.

“It's gonna be fine,” Chris said.

“I don't want to see him,” you replied. Your throat was better now; it's easier to talk without the scratching pain. Smoking slowed the healing process.

“We gotta,” Chris told you. “We all went through that together. We need to see that we're all still doing okay.”

“He _left_ him, Chris!” You winced, your hand coming to your throat to rub at it gently. A lot of the bruising and swelling had gone down, and it looked a lot less like a handprint around your throat, but yelling was out of the question until further notice. Chris was quiet, but he took your hand and that spoke more. He'd be right there.

You pulled up in front of Emily’s place and after a moment of breathing and wishing you could be back at Chris’ apartment, you got out of the car and made your way to the front door. After a quick knock, there was a call of “come in!” and you and Chris looked at each other before making your way inside.

It was weird, to see everyone here. Almost everyone, you corrected yourself. Josh _should_ be here. Instead he's in a hospital, getting treatment, caught between monster and boy and _god_ he should be here.

Walking into the living room was weird. It just felt weird. Everyone turned to look at you and you almost wanted to shrink. Chris’ assuring hand on the small of your back provided you with comfort as everyone else looked at you with a sense of pity. As far as they knew, Josh was dead, turned Wendigo in the mines. No one knew you went to go get Josh. You'd decided to leave it that way.

Sam was the first to stand up, coming up to you and wrapping you up in a tight hug. Ashley came not a moment later, and soon enough the whole group was hugging you because you're the one who lost him. When Mike tentatively took you into his arms you tensed, and it was obvious he knew why when he pulled away.

After awkward silence Jessica started up the party, going on about alcohol and the snacks they could make. You knew that, if Josh were here, he would have brought his favorite bottle and exclaimed about spiked gummy bears. The thought made you swallow hard and you winced slightly.

“Everything okay?” Sam asked softly, quiet enough for only you to hear. She must have seen your wince from your throat. At least the worst of it was gone.

“I'm fine,” you answered. Sam looked at you like she knew; it was clear you weren't, but you shrugged it off and smiled. You had to keep up the appearance until it was okay to leave.

A while into the party starting, your high from smoking was entirely gone, and you were left lethargic and tired. You wanted to go. You were watching everyone from the kitchen doorway, how they laughed and smiled like trauma hadn't even occurred. You didn't even notice that Mike wasn't with them until you heard his voice right next to you. “Hey,” he said, soft and quiet, quieter than you've ever heard him, and even then you still jumped.

“For fuck’s sake,” you mumbled, regaining yourself and taking your position back against the wall.

“Sorry,” he said with a small chuckle. You looked at him. You didn't hate Mike, you really didn't. You don't think you could hate anyone in your group. Not even Emily. But Mike isn't someone that you can forgive right now. Mike left Josh down in the mines. He left him. You can't hate him, but don't have to like him.

It grew awkward between you both and you were fine with it. “Uh… listen, I…” he started, but this was Mike after all. He knew what he did, and he was having a hard time admitting it. You briefly wondered if he'd try to blame someone else instead of admitting the mistake, like with Hannah and Beth. The thought had your whole body tensing again.

Mike took a deep breath and a long drink. “I’m… I'm sorry,” he said, finally. “I can hardly imagine what you're going through.”

That's it? That's what he had to say? You didn't answer him, staring at the group and wishing you were back at Chris’ place. You wanted to smoke and chill out and sleep. You were angry, too angry, and your throat was starting to hurt and the alcohol wasn't helping anything. “He should have been here,” you gritted out. Mike looked at you, but you couldn't look at him. “He's supposed to be here. But now he's…. He’s that fucking thing that tried to kill us. Because you left him there.” The anger was warm in your belly, and maybe that's the alcohol adding fuel to the fire, but you didn't care. “He should be over there with everyone, should be standing here with you and me, but since you ducked out on him, couldn't even bother to help him, he's not, and now here we are, sitting pretty like ‘old times’, like we’re not a fucking man down because we couldn't do a damn thing to help someone who needed it.”

Mike looked a little hurt. He hadn't known you to be blunt. “There was no point…”

You whirled on him. “No point? No point to go save your friend who was in trouble and needed you? No point for both of you dying? No point for thinking that, maybe, we all could have gotten off that fucking nightmare of a mountain together?” You hadn't noticed that your voice was rising, but you were almost on the verge of tears and you could see Josh anytime you blinked -- perfect, handsome, laughing one moment, bloody, half turned, those awful teeth protruding from his mouth the next. “You can lay your life on the line for Jessica, but Josh? Fuck Josh right? Fuck all of what happens to him because he played a fucking prank on us? He was _sick_ , Mike! He didn't hurt any of us, but you left him to fucking die like a rat stuck in a mouse trap!”

You didn't realize you were crying until a hard sob escaped your throat and it had you wincing and coughing hard. You couldn't do this. You couldn't be here. You turned and left then, scrambling to get your shoes on and you could hear your name being called, but it was distant, and then you were out the door and the cold bit at your skin. You wanted to go back.

You marched past Chris’ car, 100% willing to walk back to his damn apartment yourself, but you hardly made it past before arms wrapped tightly around your waist and you resisted before Chris turned you in his arms and held you tighter than you cared to be held but you needed it before your knees gave out. You clung onto him tightly, sobbing into his chest while he shh’d you and stroked your hair. Your throat was going to be raw after this.

“Shhh, hey, hey,” he whispered to you softly. “C’mon, we can go, okay? Let's go back. We can go smoke.” Chris had never smoked once in his life. You just assumed it was an excuse to get you to be rational, calm you down and get you back inside. But he led you to his car and got you inside, and he was hardcore texting someone, probably Sam, if you had to guess, and then you guys were driving back. Your throat hurt, throbbing and burning from your sobs and screams. You stared blankly out the window and promised yourself you were going to get so high that you would be able to sit on planet Jupiter.

True to his word, Chris got high with you. You used up what was left of your stash, and you figured you'd worry about it later. You had to help light the bowl for him in your bong, and you thought it was cute and funny how much he coughed but insisted he was fine.

It ended with your head in his lap and him stroking your hair, and this is the most relaxed you've felt all night. “I miss him.” It was so simple, because you do. You wished he was out of the hospital, but who knew how long that would take. Who knew if they could even help him anyway?

Chris’ fingers didn't stop running through your hair. “Me too.” The only reason his fingers stopped was because you were moving then, sitting up and crawling into his lap, your high causing you to crave physical contact. You curled up sideways in his lap, face burrowing against his shoulder as your hand clutched at whatever layer he had on, and after a moment of realizing what happened, his fingers found your hair and continued their route. Man, Chris really was a petter.

“He used to hold me like this, whenever I got tired. Feels nice to be like this again.”

“Are you tired?”

“No.” You lifted your head, looking at Chris with half-lidded eyes. Chris’ hand stopped, resting at the base of your neck where your spine began. Then suddenly there were lips on yours and they were chapped but your body was craving this and you just didn't care. Hands were hard on your hips and your hands were caught up in layers of clothes and tufts of blond hair and oh, that was the couch against your back.

His hands were rough and faltering, unsure of where to go and what to do but you both knew the end goal and the outcome and nothing mattered except for the physical need. Mouths and hands and fingers were doing what they do best, curses escaping lungs and clothing flying away and it felt too hot and you think you heard foil tear but it's all so distant but then he was inside of you and he was your lifeline. You clung to him because you felt like your life depended on it. Kisses were hard and grips were bruising and red lines made themselves at home next to your scars.

It wasn't who you wanted. It wasn't _his_ burning hot touch dragging across your hips or _his_ soft mouth biting at your collarbone, and it wasn't _him_ between your thighs making your back arch up off the couch so perfectly. But your body could hardly care while your mind was stuck in a haze that made it falter and your heart beat too loud and too hard for you to focus on anything else besides the rough and desperate need for the companionship that Chris provided you, and you for him. Everything was desperate, everything was brief and hard and as quick as it started it was over, and you were left spent and hot on the couch covered in more marks and bruises than you'd ever been. Where the fresh ones ended and the old ones began, you didn't know, and you didn't care to know. You couldn't tell if your high was from the orgasm you just had or if your weed had really been that good to last this long.

This wouldn't happen again. You wouldn't call it a mistake, but with the way that Chris pulled you to him while you shook and sniffled because _Jesus Christ you just slept with Chris_ , you knew that he knew this isn't what both of you really needed. This isn't coping, this isn't the start of something that was never made to begin. This was a product of hurt and loneliness under the influence of something that made you feel too fucking good. Chris kissed your forehead and it didn't make you cry but god did you hurt. You clung to him tight, face nuzzled next to a cluster of hickeys you'd made and he trailed his fingers up and down your spine in a calming manner. How were you supposed to stay calm when you slept with your dead/non-dead boyfriend's best friend? You weren't sure, but you weren't about to ask, either. You both stayed like that for the rest of the night, caught up in each other's loneliness and hold to really do much else.

Chris never got high with you again. You never asked him to. 

**Author's Note:**

> This series is not in order! It'll be updated depending on what idea I have next. Enjoy!


End file.
